Mayday! Mayday!
by Bright Morning Star
Summary: Left alone in the car while mom is out on errands, Calvin entertains himself with a pair of toy airplanes. Boring? Not with his imagination...


"Mayday, Mayday!"

by Bright Morning Star, July 17 2008

Foreword:

This little tale was written as a creative respite from my larger story To Make A Million. The original - a rough one-shot of three hours' effort - has been much refined, and I hope you will enjoy the result. Veteran fans of Watterson's work may see something familiar in this little story.

A blazing June sun beat down on the parking lot. Scorching heat seared the dirt bone-dry and sent shimmering heat waves dancing over black pavement. No cooling breeze graced the atmosphere - not even the tiniest puff of wind to relieve the burning heat.

One little boy suffered all this in a parked red car, confined to the backseat of a vehicle heated to oppressive temperatures under the June heat. He was all alone without so much as a friend to comfort him.

Just that one poor young boy.

Confined.

Alone.

Miserable.

Or at least it seemed that way.

In all truthfulness the temperature registered a balmy 75 degrees, a mild breeze graced the air, and the windows were all rolled down halfway. The 'little boy' was none other than Calvin. As usual his 'suffering' was mostly in his imagination.

_It's all mom's fault. _She'd just _had _to make a run to the bank. Why she brought him along Calvin couldn't imagine. Did his parents think he'd burn down the house or get arrested for murder if he got left alone in the house for a half hour?

But his protests fell on deaf ears. Mom dragged him out to the car - literally - and drove out to the bank with him in tow. To add insult to injury he hadn't even been allowed to get Hobbes! So here he was without his best friend.

Calvin fumed over all this as he looked at two small die-cast airplane models on the backseat, the toys he'd had in hand when mom hauled him out of the house by his shirt collar.

"Two little planes. Two _lousy_ little planes."

They were all he had to play with. Most things in the car he couldn't touch on threat of a spanking.

He sighed heavily and stared out the car window. The scenery hadn't changed; just the neighborhood grocery store with corny-looking advertisements pasted along the front wall.

For the hundredth time Calvin moaned and flopped back against his seat. "Mooom! Hurry up already, I'm _bored_."

Briefly he considered making a racket with the car horn. But that wasn't any fun once mom told dad about it. No, Calvin finally decided the only way to pass the time involved those two little planes.

He reached over and picked one up in each hand.

_Okay...now what?_

They couldn't shoot at each other. These were plain old airliners - not jet fighters. No missiles, no guns, no bombs, no nothing.

So he tried flying the two in formation. Together the two 747's swirled and looped to put the Blue Angels to shame. They raced each other neck and neck from one end of the car to the other at incredible speeds.

That quickly stopped being fun. Finally Calvin put the two into a steep dive, crashing the planes headlong into the seat cushion.

He imagined in great detail what would follow. Mayday cries from the pilots. Screams of the passengers. Two earth-shaking explosions.

_Wouldn't that be great to watch. Even better than the cartoons when somebody gets blown up with TNT or something._

That morbid thought stuck with Calvin. And then he began thinking.

_But what if...what if it was even bigger?_

What about it could be bigger?

Calvin had to work his brain for an answer. But in short order he had one.

Again the young boy picked up the planes in either hand. Naturally it wouldn't do to just be an observer, so he made himself the pilot of the one labeled 'TransWorld Airlines'.

_So we're gonna crash...why do we crash...why would two airplanes crash..._

Then the perfect scenario occurred to him.

Gripping the TWA plane a little tighter, Calvin spoke in as deep a voice as he could.

"Flight 890 to tower. Flight 890 calling control tower..."

"This is Flight 890, Tower, please respond."

"Tower here. Go ahead Flight 890."

"Control, when the heck are we going to get off the ground?"

"Captain - we are following standard operation procedure. You will be cleared for takeoff when - "

"Oh for heaven's sake! Will you knock it off and give me a time?"

Cold silence followed this plainly-worded inquiry.

"Tower to pilot?"

"Yes? I'm _still here_."

"Expect another 30 minute delay. We are experiencing some difficulty clearing the holding pattern "

"_**WHAT?! **_We've been sitting here on the tarmac for a forty-five minutes! This is a _business flight!_ Half the passengers are late for something or another already!"

"Tough cookies Flight 890."

"Yeah? Why don't _you _tell them that...Tower? _Tower?!_"

No response.

The pilot slapped his radio headset in disgust. "Idiots!"

"No chance of a takeoff anytime soon?" his copilot asked neutrally.

"None. This is crazy. We're supposed to be in the air and flying already!" Incensed, the pilot pulled off his cap and looked out the window, fuming.

It wasn't fair. There were airplanes large taking off all over the place. His own craft had been scheduled to take off long since. But the control tower had piled one delay after another on him and the hapless passengers with little or no explanation.

A jealous pilot ran his fingers through his blond hair. It wasn't fair! Airplanes were made to move, not sit around collecting dust. And the goofballs in the control tower refused to give him clearance.

He reckoned it was time to _do _something about it.

"Copilot!"

"Sir?"

"Can we need to squeeze past them?" He indicated several airplanes.

"What on earth would we want to do that for?"

That elicited a twisted smile from the pilot. "Take off! What else?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"You wanna fly or keep sitting around?" A frustrated pilot looked around at the crowded tarmac, then at his control panel. "Forget this. Radio those planes there, there, and there. Tell 'em to get out of the way or else."

With a nod the copilot "I want it on record that this was _your_ idea."

"Duly noted. Now where's that intercom..." He fumbled for the handset and flicked on the _**Fasten Seatbelts **_light.

Meanwhile, the passengers were getting ever more edgy. This flight was a regular for white-collar workers with schedules of their own; a fair number would surely be late for an appointment or meeting. Tempers were running very short and two scuffles had ensued over personal space.

The flight crew were showing the emergency procedures for the second time. Almost nobody listened to them, but they had little else to do by this time. Several stewerdesses were in the middle of pointing out how to use the cushions under the seat as a flotation device when the floor suddenly went out from under them.

A moment of panic ensued as people hurriedly grabbed for their seatbelts as the plane began to move. Confusion reigned until the loudspeakers clicked on. "This is your captain speaking. I've _had it_ with sitting around twiddling my thumbs. We are taking off _right now_ - clearance or _**no **_clearance! Don't worry about taking the blame, because that'll be my job. Just hang on your buns and get ready for a very fast takeoff!"

Loud cheers and applause erupted. Smiles replaced scowls as people hurriedly placed loose things in pockets. A sense of relief came; at last _somebody _was doing _something_ .

The pilot's gaze darted left and right as he worked the controls. He yanked the 747 hard to one side to avoid a mid-size JAL airliner, coming so close behind it that its engine wash pushed on the plane.

"Watch out for that one!"

"I'm on it!"

A stomp on the rudder pedals barely kept his left wingtip from smashing a two-engine jet. Soon after that another aircraft began turning toward it's designated take-off path and straight at him. Thinking fast he increased the engine power. With a surge of power the plane leapt forward, clear of another disaster.

Beyond that near-miss, by a miracle, was a path large enough to make a dash for a clear runway.

"Slow down, slow down! People in our path!"

He cut back on the throttle and braked hard, jerking everyone aboard against their seatbelts. Precious seconds ticked by as the ground crew dashed to safety. But it had to be done. What he was doing right now would catch enough hell later without sucking some poor sap into an engine intake.

"All clear. Where do we go now?"

"Umm...ahh...there! That way!"

At far above normal taxiing speeds the plane cut across the tarmac. The pilot had a moment to notice a frantic voice squawking in his ear. He threw off his headset. Whatever they had to say didn't matter now.

Soon the nosewheel reached the side of the lighted runway. _Too close._ First a hard left turn that began pointing them _away_. _Steady...steady..._

"NOW!!"

As one pilot and copilot jerked yoke and rudder hard right. Slowly the plane swung onto the runway, more or less.

"Take her out. That maze back there has me rattled."

"Will do."

His nerves frayed, the pilot released the controls and settled back as his partner straightened out the 747.

"Tower's going bananas over the radio. They're saying to get off this runway pronto."

"What else _would_ they say? Ignore them - get us off the ground ASAP!"

The massive airplane began rolling faster and faster, the engines' whine increasing in pitch. An anxious pilot watched the airspeed guage.

"Allmost...there...just a little more...go!"

Again he gripped the flight yoke, and together they pulled back. Slowly the monstrosity of steel lifted it's nose skyward.

A whoop came from the pilot as they felt the wheels leave the ground and scream past the airport's boundaries.

"We made it! We made iiiit!"

"Nice going sir! Looks like we're home free. Unless they send fighters after us, that is."

"Not unless we stick to our planned flight path. As long as they know we're not suicide hijackers, nobody'll start shooting." _I hope._ "And they'll have to let us land anyhow, for all the passengers."

"Sounds like a plan. Altitude is...2000 feet? Just a few thousand more and we'll...be.." the copilot's voice ended in a choked cry.

"What? Speak up!"

In horrified silence the man pointed out the window.

_Another 747 was coming in to land on the same runway. _

Frantically he yanked the control yoke to turn away. But they had just taken off in a massive jet - their airspeed was low, the controls slow to respond. They couldn't get out of the way in time. There was simply no way.

Worse, the pilots of the other plane had already recieved clearance to land; their landing gear was down and the nose pointed high for landing. They probably didn't even know he was there. And even if they did...

"It's too late!" screamed the copilot. "Our wings are too long! We're gonna hit!"

The pilot looked out the windows. Judging by the buildings they were over the enormous cloverleaf in the city's business district. And it was 5:30 PM.

His brain worked like lightning. Two jets. Big ones. Over roads packed with rush-hour traffic. The body count would be staggering. Surely no survivors from either plane...and his carried a bellyfull of aviation fuel. When that ignited...

Tears began rolling down his face as the two jets collided. Their right wing tore into the belly of the incoming jet, whose left wing slammed into the body of their jet two-thirds of the way back.

In those final moments from eternity, the pilot still looked out the window as the broken plane spiraled downward. The copilot simply screamed. His final thought came as he registered the sight of a minivan with a luggage topper, soon destined to be crushed under tons of wreckage.

_A family on vacation._

A thundering explosion split the air above the freeway. People looked up from their cars and out their windows in terror.

Those caught on the roads were almost helpless as clouds of debris rained down from the colliding aircraft. Some quick thinkers got out of their vehicles, caught in gridlocked traffic, and ran on wings of fear. But neither they nor the others had any protection against the hail of hot steel that crushed and impaled people and trapped them in crippled vehicles.

The incoming plane had flailing passengers falling out the massive gash in its belly as it continued it's course downward and to one side. It crashed into the fourth floor of a tall office building.

The 'rogue' 747 (as it was later called) broke in two pieces. One fell on a moderatly congested stretch of road, causing a 50-car pileup. The front two thirds hit the elevated cloverleaf. All four levels quickly collapsed like under weight they were never meant to bear.

Small, scattered fires ignited almost at once. Soon they joined into bigger ones as anything that could ignite did under intense heat. Unbelivable temperatures melted through the structure of the building hit by the one airliner, which toppled over like some giant limbless tree. Thousands of gallons of jet fuel from broken fuel tanks became a river of fire scorching or setting afire whatever it came near.

Within an hour the raging firestorm was of Biblical proportions - complete with a pillar of smoke visible from the border of the next state.

When all was said and done, the final casualty list was:

5000 killed immediately or within two weeks from injuries.

2000 injured

650 missing

unknown number injured by smoke inhalation, estimates ranging from three to ten thousand.

Two toy airplanes lay upside-down on the seat cushions. Calvin sat looking at them, imagining the 'disaster' that had just occurred. _Man that would be awesome to see! KABLOOEY! BAM! Big old fireball and everything..._

A metallic jangling sound came from outside the car. It was mom! His mother had returned and was fumbling with her keys.

"Mom!"

"Hello Calvin."

"Hi mom! Are we going home now?"

"Yes. I'm finished withdrawing my money. Sorry I was so long, honey, the ATM was broken," she explained as she got in the car.

Just before Calvin's mother put the key in the ignition, she turned around and looked questioningly at her son. "You've waited for me _very _patiently..."

Calvin, schemer that he was, held up the two planes with a smile. "Yep! These are lots of fun! Bet I could wait even _longer_ if you got me _another _one."

A curious mother inspected his toys - about 5 each at any local toy store. _With Calvin, that's awfully cheap to keep him from causing mischief..._

"I'll think about it," she replied. But Calvin knew mom would do it before she'd even started the car.

He buckled his seatbelt and leaned back as the engine roared to life._ Score! New toy for me! I'm so clever._ Knowing he'd 'beaten' one of his parents felt awesome enough; scoring a new plaything was delicious icing on the cake.

Calvin began wondering - what he could do with three planes?

finis


End file.
